


Only Bee in Your Bonnet

by StrawberrySmog



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Blood and Injury, Burns, Fearamid, Forced Drinking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mouth trauma, Non-Consensual Kissing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacle Rape, Torture, Triangle Bill Cipher, Xenophilia, because Bill has a gross alien tongue, but by god are they gonna talk a lot before they get to the porn, weirdly intense makeout that's described like mouthfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23710144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberrySmog/pseuds/StrawberrySmog
Summary: Ford finds himself in a situation he knows all-too well: hanging out alone at a party while everyone else has fun without him. Fortunately, his old pal Bill comes by to make sure he's not feeling left out.
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Ford Pines
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Only Bee in Your Bonnet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [worcky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worcky/gifts).



> Yeah, I know there's a lame "hanging out" pun in the summary, but guess what? There's one in the fic too.

For the first time since the world ended, Ford found himself completely alone. Wherever Bill and his cronies had wandered off to couldn’t be too far away, since Ford could still hear loud music punctuated by the occasional demented shriek, but it had been long enough since anybody came by to check on him that Ford knew they were done with him for the time being.

It might’ve been a welcome respite, had he not been left hanging from the wrists like a particularly gruesome Christmas ornament. The ache in his shoulders was at this point almost as unpleasant as the fresh burns Bill had inflicted upon him, and the two pains didn’t even have the decency to distract from each other, instead combining into new and exciting forms of hot agony every time Ford so much as breathed.

Still, as long as Bill wasn’t there things weren’t completely terrible.

“Well! Fancy seeing you hanging around here!”

Of course. Ford hadn’t gotten a single break from Bill’s nonsense in the past thirty years, and there was no reason for that to change now. He didn’t bother lifting his head when Bill floated towards him, as much out of exhaustion as it was irritation. Bill paused, no doubt admiring his handiwork. Most of the damage was hidden beneath Ford’s clothes, but the sight of him chained up and grimacing must’ve been immensely satisfying after spending so long hunting him down. There was another moment of blessed silence before Bill closed the gap between them.

“Aw, c’mon, Fordsy, there’s no need to be such a wallflower,” he said, yanking Ford up by the hair to make eye contact with him. His grip was rough, tiny fingers coiled painfully around clumps of hair, but Ford hadn’t expected any less—even as Bill spoke to him with that gratingly upbeat tone he was all-too familiar with, Ford knew that Bill would love nothing more than to dig those fingers further into his scalp and out the other side of his skull. The only reason why he hadn’t was because of the knowledge within that skull currently protected from Bill’s influence by a metal plate.

As long as Bill couldn’t kill him, Ford could endure whatever depravity was thrown at him in the perhaps naïve hope that someone- Dipper, maybe, might be able to succeed where he had failed. It was a grim thought, even if the only depravity he was enduring at the moment was Bill’s uniquely awful personality.

“Seriously,” Bill continued, unfazed by Ford’s death glare, “you were really bringing down the energy earlier. We’re all here for a good time, y’know, and I bet the crew’d be thrilled to welcome you if you gave up the old sadsack routine for a bit. This party ain’t like the ones you’re used to—for once you’re actually invited!”

“When your ‘crew’ ‘welcomed me’ the first time you all took turns torturing me, so excuse me if I’m not leaping at the chance to experience _that_ again,” Ford retorted. Bill merely rolled his eye and took a sip of his drink- Cosmic Sand, by the look of it, and Ford winced to see Bill almost drain his glass of the powerful substance in one swig. Ford’s first and last experience with Cosmic Sand had been in Dimension 52, and while he didn’t exactly have fond memories of recovering from both a craniotomy and a massive hangover at the same time, they were blissful in comparison with his current situation.

Bill finished his drink and waved his hand over the empty martini glass, causing it to refill itself. He swirled his drink languidly, acting casual despite the iron grip he maintained on Ford’s hair. “Hey, can you blame ‘em? Everyone was so excited to be letting loose after a few, oh, _millennia_ cooped up in the same stuffy dump of a dimension, but just when we thought we could start celebrating it turned out we were still stuck because some absolute _buzzkill_ decided that he was in charge of which parts of his dimension got to party with us. Have you ever thought that maybe some people _aren’t_ boring lumps of misery like you?”

Ford scowled. “I’ve heard about the results of your _partying,_ Bill, and I think people would prefer for their dimension to remain in one piece.” Bill snorted, a noise which was somewhat unsettling coming from a creature with no visible nose.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he said with a dismissive wave, “but really, what do I have to do to put you in the mood? Get a few drinks into you? Put some Eurhythmics on the playlist? Break out the ol’ chess board?” The final suggestion shouldn’t have stung so hard after a veritable lifetime of hatred, but Ford couldn’t help drawing in a sharp breath as he was unwillingly taken back to long nights spent discussing everything from the origin of the universe to the dubious validity of legwarmers as a fashion choice, all the while happily losing to Bill in chess. It always disgusted him to remember how he’d felt back then, although he could never quite disentangle who he was disgusted with: Bill, for being able to string him along so guiltlessly, or himself, for being so taken in by a demon’s false affection?

He took another breath and organized his thoughts, reshelving the painful emotions that Bill was somehow still able to knock out of him. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on the past—Bill might’ve outplayed him once again, but he hadn’t won yet.

“The only thing that would make me want to celebrate would be seeing you drop dead.”

“You _definitely_ need a drink.” Ford barely had time to snap his mouth shut before Bill shoved his glass at it. Undeterred, Bill tightened his grip on Ford, and with a single, violent push slammed his face into the rim. It hit Ford’s front teeth hard and instinctively he tried to pull away, but Bill forced him against the glass once more with another shove.

Ford felt his head explode. He must have screamed at some point, because when he was able to feel anything other than pain he noticed his mouth was slowly filling with acrid, strangely tingly liquid. It pulsed unpleasantly in time with the pain radiating from the front of his skull.

When Bill finally pulled the drink from his lips, it wasn’t anything except the overwhelming discomfort of what felt like a mouthful of molten glass that lead Ford to spew Cosmic Sand all over the ground. The relief of spitting out the offending substance was short-lived when, to his horror, Ford realized it wasn’t the only thing leaving his mouth—mixed in with the viscous drink were strands of bloody spit and several teeth.

“My teef!” he slurred, and simultaneously felt massive regret for sounding like an idiot in front of his mortal enemy and for trying to speak at all when moving his jaw sent a blinding stab of hurt straight to his brain. Bill laughed, and despite his injuries Ford barely resisted the urge to grit his teeth.

“Oh boy, looks like I might’ve overdone it a bit,” Bill said, “I forgot how fragile you humans can be! Also how hilariously stupid you guys sound when you’re down a few teeth! Speaking of which, you don’t mind if I keep these things for later, d’ya?” Ford didn’t respond. Even frowning would’ve hurt.

Bill crinkled his eye into a smirk. “Great!” he continued, and with a wave of his hand he tossed his empty cocktail glass out of existence and levitated Ford’s teeth up from their resting place on the floor and into a floating clump. Bill examined the ball of teeth with a show of great care, turning it every which way to get a better view. Ford couldn’t help but look too, although the sight was less than pleasant: the teeth were still coated in strings of blood and dark blue liquor, and as Bill rotated them Ford could see cracks and small pieces of gum still attached to their roots. Ford’s mouth ached in sympathy and more bloody drool dribbled out.

“Yeah, _definitely_ should’ve knocked these out ages ago,” Bill spoke again, then without warning opened his eyelids inhumanly wide to reveal his throat. With a flick of the wrist he sent Ford’s teeth tumbling into the unfathomable depths of his internal anatomy.

Bill had told Ford a great number of disturbing and contradictory details about his digestive system over the years, mainly in the context of what exactly would happen to Ford once Bill captured him, and though the only thing Ford knew for certain about Bill was that he was a filthy liar, the descriptions had still stuck with him. He pictured his teeth ending up in a boiling pit or a black hole or The Pocket Dimension of Eternally Screaming Skulls Which Eternally Spit Out Flaming Scorpions Who Are Also Eternally Screaming and winced, even if he was almost positive that last one had been Bill’s idea of a joke.

“Why so quiet, Sixer?” Bill said, his eye and the smug grin he’d been wearing earlier back in place, “I should be due for one of your self-righteous speeches about your iron will right about now, and instead I’m getting radio silence! Are you,” he cupped Ford’s cheeks, “ _afraid_ I’ll think you sound dumb? You know anything you say is already gonna be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard no matter how many teeth you have, right?” Bill gave Ford’s face a condescending pat and narrowed his eye further in glee upon seeing the pained flinch he had managed to provoke. “Why don’t you tell me exactly how you’re feeling, huh? Say it right now; tell me how much you hate me! Here, I’ll start you off: ‘Bill, I despise—‘ no, wait that should be ‘deshpische’, shouldn’t it? Oh, or maybe more like ‘dithspithe’! Hmm, how about—“

Ford spat in Bill’s face.

Bill didn’t react for a few moments, only staring, unblinking, at Ford as blood trailed down his massive eyeball. Ford wished his aim had been so good earlier. Then without a sound a small, dark tongue darted out from his lower eyelid. It slowly swirled around his eye, giving it a thorough cleaning, before retreating back into its socket. Ford tensed in anticipation—if there was one thing Bill liked more than hearing himself talk, it was hurting people.

“Not bad,” Bill said, “but I can do you one better.” Then he mashed his face against Ford’s.

Ford gagged as Bill’s tongue entered his mouth. It was so much bigger than a human’s, and it seemed intent on pushing itself into every crevice of Ford, squeezing under his tongue, past his hard palate, into the empty sockets of his broken teeth.

Ford choked again as Bill brushed past his uvula, ignoring his spasms as he shoved himself further and further down Ford’s throat. Ford felt a flash of panic through the hurt. Would Bill keep going? Ford didn’t know if he could. His mouth was too full of blood and saliva and most of all disgustingly fleshy tongue, and with every centimeter it crept inside him Ford felt like he was splitting further in two. His head pounded. Was he becoming drunk or just insensible with pain?

When Bill finally pulled away the relief was so sudden and intense Ford thought he’d vomited. His mouth felt so much lighter, almost numb without the pain of Bill inside him. He coughed up another mouthful of blood, which he hoped had come from his gums and not his still-raw throat, and realized Bill was speaking to him.

“—and the least you could do is act a little grateful! I know getting a ‘thank you’ out of Stanford Pines is like finding a Manotaur in your yoga class, but I didn’t have to give those back, okay? You’re using my olive branch as kindling over here!” Bill was making even less sense than usual. What on Earth was Ford supposed to thank him for, not suffocating him? He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, feeling his teeth—his teeth? So that had been what Bill was talking about. He must’ve put Ford’s teeth back in place while he was busy stuffing his tongue down Ford’s throat.

“I’m just trying to show you I’m a man of my word. I said ‘later’, and look! Later! Isn’t that the linear cause-and-effect junk your kind is so obsessed with? There’s more where that came from too! Give me that equation and you’ll see just how Boolean my logic can get! I’m talking power, knowledge, whatever—after I’m done murdering you for being the most frustratingly stubborn person alive of course, but I’d say that’s more than fair.” Bill leaned back in the air, eye shut in evident satisfaction with what he’d just said, and Ford was gripped with such a white-hot rage that he knew however much time he had left he would never again be as angry with anyone as he was with Bill in that moment.

“More than fair? Who are you to talk about fairness, about keeping your word? All you’ve ever done is lie and trick people into doing whatever you wanted! You wouldn’t even know what a promise is!” he roared, his voice hoarse.

Bill reacted in typical infuriating fashion by cracking open his eye to regard Ford in the way one might a particularly yappy Chihuahua. He unfurled himself from his leaning position and, with the utmost of delicate leisure, made a show of stretching his wrists before making a noise like a game show buzzer.

“Absolutely untrue, Sixer,” he said, arms crossed while Ford shook with rage,” when have I ever lied to you? When I said I was a muse? How much of the research in your little journals comes from ideas I gave you? When I said I inspired one brilliant mind per century? You think I was choosing morons to build my portal? When I said you’d be the man to change the world? Look out the window sometime, Fordsy, because that’s _change_ out there! From where I’m sitting you’re the one who’s been unfaithful, running off to void your warranty by cutting yourself open just so you can exclude me from my own space!”

Ford’s numb fingers twitched with the desire to rip Bill’s eye out. “It’s not your space anymore, Bill.”

Bill made the buzzer noise again, somehow even louder and more obnoxious this time around. “Wow, wrong again! And you want to lecture me about promises? As far as I recall we _had_ a promise, and it wasn’t ‘until Stanford decides to take his toys and go home because he’s tired of sharing.’”

“I own you, mind and body, until the end of time.” As if to emphasize his point, Bill grew more arms, each one reaching out to touch a different part of Ford. Ford shuddered as Bill’s hands ghosted over his burns.

Of course Bill could toss Ford’s own words back at him so casually—he wasn’t the one who’d meant them, after all. And yet here he was, acting as though Ford had wounded him, as though he’d cared about their partnership, as though anything he’d said back then had been for any purpose other than burying the hook deeper in Ford’s mouth.

He couldn’t stand to watch any more of Bill playacting Ford’s own feelings, so sickeningly sure in his own charisma that he thought he could make some noises about betrayal and Ford would really abandon all reason and emotion for the chance to make the worst mistake of his life all over again. Ford couldn’t even say what he’d experienced had been a betrayal, because Bill had never been on his side in the first place. Bill was a monster. Bill was the worst. Bill was touching his dick right now.

What the hell?

“What the hell?” Ford said and looked down, hoping to find that his dick had started stroking itself instead of the confirmation he received: two of Bill’s hands were, in fact, rubbing his crotch. As he watched, a third and then a fourth joined in, each little hand sending a new shiver up Ford’s body.

“Something wrong, Fordsy?” Ford’s head snapped away from the insane sight and back up to Bill’s face, which now wore a wide-eyed expression of false innocence. Bill blinked. Ford blinked back. Bill added another hand.

“Yes!” Ford said, the word coming out a little more forcefully than intended when Bill gave him a squeeze at the same time. “You’ve got to stop this, what you’re doing, whatever you think this is, just—stop!”

“You’d rather I touched you like this?” Another one of Bill’s countless hands jabbed into a burn on Ford’s shoulder and Ford cried out. “Huh. Doesn’t sound like it. Why don’t you just sit back and enjoy yourself for once? You didn’t have anything to say when I was kissing you earlier.”

Ford was taken aback. “What? When did you kiss me?”

“Yeesh, you’re even more hopeless than I thought. Last I checked the preferred human word for when two people swap bacteria by pushing their lips together was ‘kissing’, but I guess a self-centered genetic dead end like you wouldn’t know anything about that—“

“Of course I know what kissing is, I just don’t see how it has any relation to you trying to choke me, or for that matter how any of this is supposed to be enjoyable.” Ford tried to put as much venom into his words as possible, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his cock twitching beneath Bill’s hands, straining harder against his pants with every stroke. Ford willed himself not to look even as Bill slowly, deliberately turned his slit pupil downwards to stare at Ford’s crotch.

“You seem to be enjoying it just fine.”

Ford clenched and unclenched his fists, attempting to redirect blood flow to anywhere but his throbbing dick. “It’s an automatic response, Bill,” he said between carefully measured breaths, “I can assure you, I’m receiving absolutely no pleasure at the moment.”

Bill looked back up at him. “Then why does it matter what I do to you? Since you’re not,” he dug his fingers into Ford, provoking a gasp, “feeling anything from this, right?” Ford squirmed as Bill gripped him tighter. Pain welled up inside him again, this time mixing with the uncomfortably tight feeling of burgeoning arousal, creating an almost unbearable heat.

“Because you can’t! I don’t want you to!” Ford snapped, only to immediately flush with shame. Bill had barely touched him and here he was, half-hard under his pants like a horny teenager and practically begging Bill to stop, as if he wasn’t aware telling Bill not to do something was the quickest way to make him do just that. “Can’t” and “don’t” were just as much playthings to Bill as Ford was.

“And here I thought you were catching on. Listen pal, I can and you do, because you already gave me permission thirty years ago. Now, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

The removal of his clothing had no effect on the heat rising within Ford. On the contrary, the cool air against his skin only seemed to emphasize how intensely, feverishly hot he was. It wasn’t anything so pleasant as burning, instead closer to the feeling of slowly sweating to death under too many layers of blankets. He was beginning to feel light-headed. Definitely a bit drunk, then, because there was no other explanation for the moan he let out when Bill touched him again.

Bill’s hands were smooth, unnaturally so. Ford could sense no imperfections in their silky surface, nor any familiar hint of muscle and bone. His small fingers slid easily over the head of Ford’s cock, the feeling more like tentacles than hands as they wrapped themselves around Ford’s shaft.

It was embarrassing how hard the tight coils slithering up and down his length made him. He hadn’t worked himself up so quickly in years, and yet covered in wounds and gripped by his nemesis he was coming undone at a completely unsustainable pace.

“Bill.” Ford’s tongue felt heavy. He paused, whatever he’d been about to say dead in his throat. He couldn’t think, not while he was so sluggishly warm and his head was pounding and Bill kept squeezing him tighter and tighter.

“Better try again, kid, didn’t catch what you were trying to say. I can’t read your mind y’know—or did you forget why you’re here and not decorating my throne right now? ‘Cause if you did I know a _great_ way to help us communicate better!”

“Not on my life.”

“Looks like we don’t have anything better to do then. Hey, what’s your opinion on butt stuff?”

Two of the arms still touching Ford’s ass roughly thrust themselves inside him. Ford’s head snapped back at the sudden intrusion and he gave a strangled cry. “Gonna take that as a yes,” Bill said.

The hands within Ford began to stroke him in time with the ones patting his cock. The sensation of Bill’s fingers skittering around his insides was strange and unfortunately reminiscent of an insect. Ford shook with discomfort.

Another arm crept up past his entrance, and Ford felt himself stretch slowly as it joined the two already inside him. It might’ve hurt, but all Ford could feel in the moment was intensely full. Bill was pushing him outwards, opening him up, hollowing him out and replacing everything within Ford with overwhelming pressure. His head swam and he closed his eyes, trying to breath, trying to feel anything except Bill.

Bill gave another thrust, and with that the dam inside him burst. He came in a series of shuddering gasps and Ford hung his head, eyes still shut, as whatever had been holding him up drained out of him along with his orgasm. If he hadn’t been chained up he would’ve fallen to his knees.

“Nice! Didn’t even rip it off this time!” Bill crowed, unwinding himself from around Ford’s dick. Ford’s brain throbbed and he blinked hard, trying to clear the fog. The pressure within Ford still hadn’t abated, and he was momentarily confused before realizing Bill’s arms were still inside his ass. Without the pulsing haze of his erection they were far too big and heavy for him. One of Bill’s hands brushed up against his prostate and he felt another pang of discomfort.

Bill pulled out after what seemed like an eternity and Ford almost collapsed again, completely wrung out. He was only dimly aware of Bill floating back up to his face. Bill regarded him for a few seconds, taking in the sweaty, panting mess of Ford. Then, he brushed a stray hair off his forehead. Ford didn’t have to energy to flinch.

“So,” Bill said, “how about that drink I promised you?”

**Author's Note:**

> The part where Ford spits in Bill's eye is lifted from the deleted scene where pretty much the exact same thing happens minus the making out afterwards. Bill's crack about Ford liking Eurythmics is also stolen from supplemental materials, although in this case it's from the bit in the special edition of Journal 3 where Ford puts listening to their new music on his "oh shit, I've been away from Earth for thirty years" to-do list.


End file.
